The Old Sith Trials

IC Arcane
Vast subterranean cavern under the Academy

When the lightening struck him he felt limp. It surged through him like seething hatred. He barely felt his body fly through the air and probably would have passed out if not for the painful landing against the cold stone. As soon as his body hit the bridge his breath left his body. He gasped for air as Ermir screamed for him to rise. He heard the familiar sound of a sabre ignighting. He staggered to his feet just in time to see the giant worm-like creature, unfamiliar to him, lunge from the murky waters.

There was a slimy substance coating them both. Arcane realized it was the beast's saliva. "Ermir!" He screamed. "What is this? What do we do?" His voice would have echoed in the cavern, if not for the beast's roars. He grabbed for his sabre, fumbling slightly but then steadying his hands and ignighting it just as Ermir had.

He stood silently. His eyes showing fear. He was afraid. He had no plan. He had only his sabre and his teacher. Nothing. He had nothing.

TAG:Darth Dreadwar

IC Darth Arancia
Gozanti-class Cruiser Suppressor, Oricon

Once the Initiates and the Anzat had left the cockpit, Arancia sighed wearily. He was not prepared for this expedition. He wasunsure why he was being sent with a troop of inexperienced younglings to a dead planet to find an incredibly powerful piece of an artifact lost to the annals of time. He crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. He would meditate on this until they reached the planet.


The ship tore through the atmosphere hourslater. Arancia could see heat waves rising to buffet the ship as it made its descent. The Dread Fortress towered in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before they had set down. He began walking back to the boarding ramp of the cruiser. Once there, he engaged the overhead loudspeakers again. “Our destination is upon us. Arancia would have you meet him at the boarding ramp.”

The ship touched down on the planet minutes later. The ramp lowered and a blast of hot air snaked through the corridors of the ship, accompanied by the pungent scent of sulfur and brimstone.The ship had landed on a dilapidated landing pad. A bridge stretched over rivers of lava, leading to the imposing Dread Fortress. Arancia was thankful for the breathing apparatus strapped to his face. The air here would be difficult to breathe. Arancis strode down the ramp and pointed to the Fortress. "The Phobis Device awaits. Can you feel it?" There was certainly no palpable aura of fear. Arancia had posed the question to guage which of the initiates was liable to lie to him first.

TAG: taciteoccultus , DarthVizuul , darthvoxyn

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IC Darth Nostrem 
Citadel Catacombs, Kaas City

Nostrem looked to the valve that Deleritas had pointed out. “You could try operating it, apprentice,” the phantom sneered derisively. “If there is any excess pressure within the system, that valve will release it. You’ll likely find nothing but hot air and, if you’re really unlucky a spray of molten rock.” Nostrem pondered for a moment and turned back to speak with Solus, a drastic shift in tone denoting that he actually held mild respect for the Master of the duo. “To truly restore this great machine, you would need at the very least a tank of water or other suitable fluid the size of a small starfighter, none of which is here of course.”

As he gestured to the empty storage containers, a small smirk twitched across his glowing features. “I suppose,” he continued smugly, “telekinetic operation would be theoretically possible, but only as a temporary solution. The system is not designed to function without water within its pipes. He who wished to power the Citadel would have to stay here in order to keep the pump functioning.” He looked between the two Lords. “I highly doubt you wish to stay trapped down here while your apprentice flees this place, Lord Solus,” Nostrem verbally jabbed. “Though I will say you are by far the most interesting company I have had the pleasure of keeping in centuries.”

TAG: Darth Solus , Deleritas

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IC Darth Catalyst 
Sarcophagus, False tomb of Naga Sadow

Catalyst found himself nodding in response to his apprentice’s words. There was little keeping them from escaping this tomb now that they had acquired treasures with such incredible power. He was about to speak up when a strong gust of wind tore through the empty chamber. Neoplix was swept up like rubbish on the streets and cast into the pit below. Catalyst peered over the edge. He saw the Gen’Dai’s long arms stretch up to grip the lip of the platform they were on. A smirk creased his face. He’ll be fine. That is what he volunteered for after all. Catalyst turned back to look at the sarcophagus, now brimming with dark energy. His lightsaber hilt vomited sparks, threatening to catch his long robes. From the depths of the sands, shadows erupted, folding over each other to create the silhouette of a cloaked human. The figure turned; what looked like a hood that only encased blackness looked down upon the group.

"Who dares disturb the sanctum of my tomb?"

Catalyst felt his voice catch. For once, he was at a loss for words. His companions seemed similarly silenced, with Xirr struggling to spit out a response and failing. He swallowed the lump that was growing in h and took a few deep breaths to psyche himself up. Within moments he had found his voice again and addressed the shadows. “Mighty spirit,” Catalyst began, his voice gaining further confidence with each word that he spoke, “we seek the prophecy of Ragnarok, penned by Naga Sadow and sealed within this tomb.” The brashness of his action was fully known to him but he took it upon himself to be the voice of the collective. Regardless, his next question filled him with incredible fear. It may very well have been his last words. “Who are you that rests in this tomb built for Sadow?"

TAG: Darth Dreadwar , Volshe , Shira , Padawan4687 , dice , gorzan , @lordjania

IC: Insipid

The Sith Lord paid Anathema no heed. She was no tactician. Exposing our positions to attack the Gorog was what Haretisch likely demanded; intended. Yet, Insipid could sense that her concern was real - this was not a power play. She purely needed to be educated.

A hand was held up to Lady Helinith. ‘The Anzati Lady is not as versed in our ways, my old apprentice. It would not do to discount her views just because she cannot see through my stratagem...’ he cast a smile to his gash of a mouth. ‘But I admire your suggestions on how to kill the greatest among the Sithspawn.’

Lord Insipid dismissed the rest from his immediate presence, and drew the Force around them to still the sound between them and the others. It was merely a matter of seizing the molecules that could carry their voices into the rest of the command area.

‘If we advance, we risk exposing our positions, and our forces will not fell a Gorog before the walkers identify our soldiers and pick them apart. We cannot prevent the Gorog from breaching the wall; in-fact attacking the creature will decide where it will do so only.’ Insipid tapped the display, showing where his teams would deploy. ‘They will shore up these points in the higher up Citadel even as the enemy pursues our forces into Citadel. We shall specifically lure them to ourselves, to encourage their commitment - their overcommitment.’

Insipid’s eyes bored into Anathema. ‘You and Helinith will head to the Citadel wall and bait the assault. I will hold here. I expect you to withdraw to this position so the Yevetha can relieve you, and then together we shall hold the line. The Gorog will have to advance...’ he indicated the anticipated location of the breach. ‘And we’ll drop the upper levels of the Citadel upon it.’

His smile widened. ‘Then we advance; driving right into the very heart of their command structure, which I will identifying the location of by how their army moves.’

‘Now,’ Insipid added, softly. ‘If you understand my plan, are you and Lady Helinith able to advance to the Citadel walls now - immediately? We must not allow Haretisch to overthink.’

‘I will be, and ready.’ Insipid hefted his hilt. ‘Retreat to me as soon as the Gorog advances.’

Darth Dreadwar, @daughterofvader

IC: Voidwalker
The Artificer Crash Site, Korriban

Climbing from the wreckage of the Artificer, Voidwalker peered around as far as he could see, trying to get some idea of a location. There was desert and mountains, but there was something else, a city. Just barely visible on the horizon. As soon as his feet hit the ground of the ancient Sith home world, Voidwalker could feel the rush of the Dark Side completely engulf him. This was a feeling like he’d never experienced before. Looking towards Karina, he shouted out excitedly, like a kid on Lifeday. “Karina, can you feel it? The power of the Dark Side, it is alive. All throughout this planet, the Dark Side lives and is stronger here than anywhere else I have ever experienced. This feeling is incredible!”

After taking a brief moment to regain his usual demeanor, Voidwalker shouted out his findings to the Captain. “Captain, there’s a city. That seems the best place to head. It looks to be a good distance away, at least by foot. I suggest we use the speeder bikes that are on board. The sooner we get to civilization the sooner we can attempt to find this buyer.”

“Oh that reminds me.” Voidwalker turned to the nearest crew member and started handing out specific order that were to be followed to the letter. “You there, give word to the crew to unload the speeder bikes. Also retrieve the Holocron from the cargo hold. One last thing, while we’re gone make sure to bury the remains of Garn and that pathetic Jedi.”

As Voidwalker waited for his orders to be carried out he found himself momentarily alone with his thoughts. Before we crashed Karina asked me to make her a promise. A promise that would keep her here with me.
I never got to give her that answer. I need to do so.

Approaching Karina Draven had a softer look and tone in his voice, a tone that was unusual for the warrior. “Karina, I wanted you to know that I didn’t forget about what you said before we crashed. I promise that I will everything within my power to keep you safe. So please stay here, with me.”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel

IC: Warlord Zhav'vorsa
Imperial Medbay, Sith Temple, Korriban

Zhav’vorsa, Warlord of the Howling Blade Clan on Dathomir, stood tall a few steps back from Darth Dreadwar as the others arrived. He folded his broad arms across his chest, electing to remain silent and observe the souls he’d been tasked to work with. Coatlec, the man he’d nearly beaten to death with his bare hands - in the name of a lesson - arrived a moment before with his nose stuck into a book. He felt the tug of an amused smile when his amber eyes fell upon the frail body of the Sith Lord. It faded almost at once when he noticed two figures entering the room.

His attention shifted toward a man and woman that approached. The woman’s eyes were a hue of red, though he couldn’t be certain if it was a natural coloring or something influenced by the Sith or the planet itself; he still lacked proper knowledge of the powers that Korriban, and even the Sith held. The man beside her had recently been bandaged, looking a bit worse for wear. Not exactly desirable for one who is about to embark on a hunt, he thought to himself. Dreadwar called the woman ‘Bellorum’ but left the man unnamed. An introduction would not be necessary.

Zul’tar.

Zhav’vorsa’s eyes narrowed sharply and he curled his lip in disdain, his brow furrowing at the sight of the self-exiled warrior. His eyes burned with contempt, a look that would put any man with a pulse on alert when he gazed up to them. He met Zul’tar stare for stare, not breaking eye contact even as the exile offered but a humble bow to both he and the Emperor. No such gesture was reciprocated. Rather, the Emperor said a few parting words and left the Warlord in charge before taking his leave from the gathering.

Zhav did not regard Dreadwar when he left the room. He found himself too focused upon the man that left in exile. His eyes did not waver from Zul’tar when he spat at his feet, the droplets of saliva hitting the ground where he stood. His response to the bow of the old warrior that abandoned the Howling Blade Clan.

“Chiftik,” Zhav’vorsa said with derision, calling Zul’tar a cricket in their native tongue. An insult within his Clan, comparing a man to a lowly insect. He wiped his mouth with his forearm, taking a half step toward Zul’tar. “Anha jif Addrivat yeri finne yeri kovarat!” His words flung from his mouth, his tongue like a dagger thrown by an assassin. He didn't pay any mind to the others present, knowing full well they'd have no clue what he said to Zul'tar. He didn't care. The man before him deserved to be insulted in his own language, a language he was unsure if the old dog even remembered. He'd turned his back on the Clan of the Howling Blade, on his people, on their way of life, why would he retain their language? He wondered.  The veins in the Warlord's neck began to protrude as he spoke to Zul’tar, telling the deserter he should be killed where he stood. He contained his fury, his blood lust, even in the face of such an unworthy soul, gritting his teeth behind his lips. He balled his fists at his sides, the veins in his arms beginning to bulge, becoming more pronounced than normal. He had little use for such a whelp. He’d take the woman, even the beaten old man could prove useful, but a deserter? He had no patience for such refuse in his presence.

Zhav’vorsa huffed, shaking his head at the man before him. Slowly, he began to regain his composure, though his heart still burned with fury enough to ignite the night sky. The aged man, Zul’tar, a deserter in the eyes of the Clan, deserved nothing but an honorless death, left unburned, unburied, wandering in ceaseless winter, separated from his ancestors for eternity. Had they been on Dathomir, he would’ve been struck without a second breath. Given Dreadwar’s parting words, perhaps it would be within the Warlord’s authority to do so, even on Korriban…

TAG: Darth Dreadwar Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror darthkain7

IC: Darth Dreadwar
The Tomb of Ku'ar Danar, Korriban

Apollyon pulled back on Catalyst's elbow, fear suffusing her aura as she hissed in his ear. "That's the Emperor, you fool," she managed, before sense overtook her impulse of strange compassion, and she at once stepped back and cast her eyes to the floor - swiftly followed by her knees. Don't kill him, she thought fiercely, hoping her master would feel the desperate wish through their aetheric bond. "I am at thy bidding, My Master," she intoned, gloved palms placed on the cold stone of the platform.

Apollyon felt only amusement from Darth Dreadwar. He had taken stock of the scene the instant he had willed his manifestation, and it was obvious his apprentice had developed feelings for the suave Inquisitor who stood boldly before him; no other explanation would account for such selfless worry. Dreadwar recognised Catalyst, of course; the Sith Master had been interred in his vault on Nilrebmah, an addition to the army Dreadwar had been building in secret across the millennia through preserving Sith from all eras in caskets of carbonite. The purpose of the construct had been more than simply preserving the history of the Sith, as one might cherry-pick artifacts across different eras for display in a museum; it was to build the ultimate force of conquest, for the dread war that came. It was no surprise Catalyst did not recognise his Emperor in return; Dreadwar's minions had released the Inquisitor from frozen sleep, not the supple-formed Emperor himself, and the Emperor was notoriously reclusive.

Nonetheless, Apollyon’s foolish fears were quite unfounded. To kill a man for answering Dreadwar's question? As ever, Apollyon underestimated Dreadwar's rationality, and recognition of the same in others. To kill Catalyst would be preposterous. That said, only the twins and the Gen'Dai peon, besides Apollyon herself, had greeted Dreadwar with appropriate protocol, and the Emperor had to rectify that.

With a crack like thunder, reverberating throughout the cavern, the Sith standing before him were cast to their knees, as Darth Dreadwar stepped slowly from the sarcophagus onto the lonely island, and began walking forward. "This tomb was built for me," he rasped, sepulchral whisper echoing hollowly throughout the chamber. He stopped short, looking down at Catalyst, hood as empty and black as the abyss upon whose precipice they stood. The yawning chasm grew closer, and Catalyst would feel the unpleasant sensation of his consciousness beginning to peel from his neurons, his very being teetering on the edge of a hungering, thundering void in the Force. The deathly cold emanating from the event horizon was unimaginable, daggers of ice sinking into Catalyst's soul like the titanic teeth of Tartarus, pulling him closer to the inexorable rend in the Force that towered over him. But before Catalyst slipped away, Dreadwar moved on, sparing the Inquisitor the pernicious proximity of his presence, stygian gauntlet touching Apollyon's forehead gently as he walked past them. The Emperor's Hand closed her eyes with an expression of bizarre euphoria; the touch had been as cold as death, but it was her only warmth.

"But I never made use of this tomb," Dreadwar hissed, continuing, "for I never died. I shed my physical form as you might shed clothes, discarding the burdens of the flesh to exist as pure spirit. And after that fateful ritual, other Sith Lords made use of the tomb of Ku'ar Danar - the name I was born to. Tulak Hord had intended to be buried here, but he could never breach the furthest catacombs, and so he built his own mausoleum in the Valley. Naga Sadow had intended to be buried here, but he was exiled to the distant moon of Yavin, and so was laid to rest in a small jungle crypt." As he spoke, the Emperor placed further pressure on one Sith he passed, shoving young Shaire face-first into the dust. So far as he was concerned, her lack of acknowledgment demonstrated a lack of respect. Once he reached the end of the narrow walkway, he turned around to face the team, arms folded.

"Naga Sadow was my apprentice," he hissed. "He woke me from my deathless sleep, and I imparted unto him my knowledge of alchemy, recondite lore he passed to his apprentice Freedon Nadd - and thus to Exar Kun." A particularly scholarly Sith might join the dots, and realise Exar Kun had used an ancient ritual, hidden in Sadow's scrolls, to consume an entire moon and transmogrify himself into a dark wraith much like Dreadwar, to be finally vanquished millennia later by the students of Luke Skywalker.

"Sadow's prophecy has been a riddle in my mind ever since he wrote it," Dreadwar continued. "It is one of many prophecies from that era; Sadow feared the prophecy foretelling the coming of Exar Kun, but he feared his own visions more, a prophecy of great destruction befalling the entire galaxy. It is said this apocalypse can be averted, but as you now know," Dreadwar gestured to the parchment in Viscretus' hand, "the identity of that saviour is veiled in mystery; all we know is that it is one unto whom was born Mitth'res'pheie. The Chiss were known to the ancient Sith," Dreadwar's tone dipped, then, as if mocking his own antiquity, "having been discovered by the Empire of Vitiate, centuries after Sadow's fall from power. Given Sadow lingered for centuries after said fall, placing himself in stasis on Yavin until Freedon Nadd slew him, it is not impossible he would have acquired knowledge of the Chiss. It is possible he glimpsed an individual in his visions, saving the galaxy from the apocalypse he saw, and only knew that this individual had a son, or a daughter, named Mitth'res'pheie. Visions, after all, can be vague and fickle things, and prophecies are merely recurring visions put to the pen."

Darth Dreadwar gestured, bidding the Sith rise. "Come, Apollyon," he said. "The next time you discover an ancient prophecy, you could simply ask your master, rather than traipsing off to the Valley on a foolhardy quest to penetrate perilous tombs." Duly chastised, and feeling rather foolish for not asking an ancient being regarding such ancient things, Apollyon nodded, black eyes downcast. "Yes, my master," she said quietly.

"If that is all," Dreadwar hissed, "then follow." The wraith turned, tattered black cloak rippling behind him, and strode forth from the cavern of his own unused sarcophagus, back through the passageways whence the team had come. He recognised the initiate quivering in the treasure chamber, and walked by her without a second glance. Instead, his attention was drawn to the Deshade lying dead on the floor near her. So'Kard. So brave, so foolish. He had interred his Shadow Killer in his tomb in hopes that a worthy Sith might be able to tame him; Dreadwar had no time for such pets, now.

While So'Kard had failed to protect Dreadwar's resting place, he could still serve his lord even in death. "Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," Dreadwar whispered, jabbing a finger at the fresh corpse, and the air surged and warped with an awful, anxious wrongness, quivering above the body. Then, with a twitch, the eyes of So'Kard flashed open, glowing a ghoulish red. It was no mere wight, depraved and deprived of all spirit; it was a revenant in full, doomed to wither and rot as any dead thing would, but possessing the mind of So'Kard, dull as it was, seized from the brink of Chaos by Dreadwar's powers of essence transference. "Guard Viscretus," Dreadwar commanded it, bidding it shamble off towards the ivory-skinned Sith Lady that had caught Dreadwar's eye, and then the Lord of Darkness was sweeping past it, through the great gloomy hall, past the wall of prophecy, into the winding passage where the Sith had done battle. The sealed doors retreated before Dreadwar with successive whispers of "Na chaba sim baratu," and Apollyon made note of the words in her mind in case she ever ventured back here, wondering if it was some spell to open doors in general, or whether it was a password specific to Sadow's - no, Dreadwar's - tomb.

The body of Coatlec was pulled from the unsealed passage, floating along behind Dreadwar as he made his way through the tomb, remembering the layout he had painstakingly designed even after seven thousand years. Coatlec would require medical attention, it seemed, but there were more pressing matters; now that the Sith had uncovered the prophecy, they would be demanding further answers than those Dreadwar had given them. And Dreadwar himself needed the mystery solved; the time of Typhojem's coming was at hand. Back at the Temple, there would be much to discuss.

With one last incantation, the great door that sealed the tomb swung open, and Darth Dreadwar the Magnificent stepped forth into the crimson rays of dwindling sunlight streaming from just above the distant canyon wall of the Valley of the Dark Lords. The sandstorm was over.

TAG: Volshe, Shira, Padawan4687, Darth Catalyst, gorzan, dice, @lordjania, trentongordon, Sedriss Nathemus the Conqueror (kinda)

IC: Unknown
Beyond Shadows

The strange woman stared beyond shadows, to the dust-laden planet looming out of the mists. Korriban, planet of lost souls. That was which had ensnared Ramage's rapt attention, as he related the tale of his more literal ensnarement. He, too, was a lost soul - another Sith Lord entombed in the graveyard of the dark side. But he still whispered in his tomb, counting himself marginally more alive than the spirits that clung to the tortured echoes of their former lives and past glory.

The fool.

The utter fool.

Ramage was dead. He dreamed of freedom, not knowing there was no such thing. Of course, his moribund form could be vivified, to walk the sands of the world some later historians called Moraband once more. But did he not see? Did he not realise? The soul that would animate his carcass would be as parched as the dried valleys of carrion and scarab that cracked Korriban's sinister surface, the puckered fissures of a corpse. When one had spent so long Beyond Shadows, one never truly came back - not as the being they had been.

He would do better to surrender to the bliss of eternity, letting the oblivion of Chaos sunder his soul and render his existence ceased.

Do better for himself, that is. For her betterment, she needed him sprung from his dvasi kolona as soon as possible, no matter whether the realm of nightmare had stretched his soul beyond recognition, like too little butter spread on too much bread. Centuries had passed since Ramage had walked among the rivers and grasses of the galaxy's thousand realms. Would there be anyone alive to recognise that the returned Ramage was... wrong? Even Ramage himself? Of course not.

And so the woman smiled, a thing of knowing malevolence, and stepped forward, resting a slender hand with long fingers on the Siniteen's shoulder. Comforting. Reassuring. Terrifying.

"Have no fear, my little one," she said. "I will protect thee." Amber eyes raked the side of his cheek like twin brands of fire, the burning claws of a fell beast, as she glanced aside at him. "Even now, your salvation is at hand. Look deeper. Past the veil of clouds and dust, past the sand and stone." The woman raised a finger, black lacquered talon bidding Ramage direct his attention to the vision of the feline creature fighting a great bloated wyrm alongside a human dressed in white...

"What do you sssseee?

TAG: darthramage

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IC: Ermir Marcus
The Cavern of the Sept, beneath the Sith Temple, Korriban

"It's saliva!" Ermir yelled over the wyrm's roar, diving out of the way as its thrashing thrust brought its gaping maw smashing into the spot he had just vacated. Ermir rolled, finding his feet with surprising grace for one whose alchemist's coat was so thoroughly sodden with foul green slime. "Oh, you mean that!" Ermir pointed his lightsaber at the mammoth creature, believing Arcane was asking about the identity of their attacker.

"It's a wyrm like I said! We'll have to fight it to get--" Ermir dove to the side again, as the Sith spawn of the Soulworm snapped at him. The beast was aggravated by its two misses, and so swiftly settled on a new strategy: rolling. The colossal wyrm pulled itself from the water, and hefted its squamous bulk towards Arcane, hoping to crush the Cathar under it as it wetly rolled towards him, appendages flailing.

The creature had been clever. In pulling itself from the moat, it had separated Arcane from Ermir, and now its some three-hundred-foot length made it impossible for Arcane to retreat lengthways out of the path of the rolling monster; he would have to simply outpace its movement, and the cavern wall meant he could not outpace it forever, if it kept rolling - and indeed, that was if Arcane could even run fast enough to begin with.

What to do? There was only a split-second to decide, before the wyrm crushed him.

TAG: Arcane

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IC: Shado Vao
Restricted Section, Library, Jedi Praxeum, Yavin IV

Vao did not need to meet Gis'pefu's eyes to see her guilt. Her aura in the Force spoke volumes more, embarrassment intertwining with a repressed curiosity. Lying to a Jedi Master was unwise, but as much as the Code placed an emphasis on honesty - successful deceptions veiled the truth of the world from the recipient, violating the creed that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge - Shado Vao could forgive such a minor fib.

He, too, had been a Padawan once. He knew how tempting those oak doors looked - and how disappointingly dull what lay beyond them was.

Shado snorted softly, quirking a smile at Gis'pefu. "Come along, Padawan," he said, turning and opening the doors invitingly. "My own Padawan could do with a research assistant." Jarich Skywalker was standing at a stone altar in the small vault beyond, pouring over one of several scrolls. "We are trying to figure out why that Terentatek attacked and where it came from," Shado continued, "by looking over the Praxeum's assortment of Sith writings. A small assortment, as you can see."

As Jarich unfurled the scroll further, he would be able to make out Jorak Uln's further words:

"...which prophesies that a God named variously as Typhojem, Pomojema or Darr tah El'Nemes'tsis will rise again during an age of dread and war, and consume all the galaxy? What of the Leviathan, the mightiest of Sithspawn, thought to have been created by Sorzus Syn, yet obscure myths attribute their true origin to a god gnawing the heart of the galaxy called the Soulworm?

What of other Sithspawn? How does sacrificing birds breed a battle hydra? Do you not see the obviousness of it all, that when we arrogant Sith believe we are bending nature to our whim and creating new life, that we are not in fact creating but merely summoning through sacrificial ritual? What if the Terentateks are not rancors mutated by Exar Kun, but rather demons more ancient than we could know? It would certainly explain why there are multiple reports of Terentateks and close relatives predating their supposed generation by Lord Kun, even harrying the ancient ancestors of the Jedi on Tython.

TAG: darthramage @patrickx36

IC: Voidwalker
The Artificer Crash Site, Korriban

Voidwalker looked upon Karina, his eyes fixed on hers as he spoke. “Karina, I told you, I give you my word that I’ll keep you safe. If things get to dangerous, I’ll remove you from the situation myself. I have no intentions on you dying.” Voidwalker spoke in a gentle and kind hearted tone.

Shifting direction back to a more serious tone, it was time to get back to business. “As far as the buyer, I have no idea on how to contact him. I only have the name that Garn gave us, and who knows if that’s the real name of the buyer. Sith tend to work in secrecy. If you look out past the desert in that clearing of the mountains, there’s a city it looks like. We should take the Speeder bikers and head that way. Unless of course you have any other suggestions. But by the looks of it, it’s going to be dark soon. We should get moving soon. Do you want to ride with me or do you want to take your own?”

TAG: Darth Dreadwar kurtishenschel

IC: Sulat Xon / Doctor Lak
The Triumphant, hyperspace, en route to the Nihil Retreat

The square-jawed female Knight that had addressed Nox frowned, glancing over at her pug-nosed male compatriot to her right. He merely shrugged at her, and she rolled her eyes. Utterly useless, as usual; the ranks of the Imperial Knights had been thinned by the successive attacks of the alien pyramids, and now Krar Setura was left with guards barely out of basic training - and that training had become basic, indeed, with resources and personnel focused more on survival than instruction.

"Up you get, then," Setura snorted at Nox, right hand remaining cautiously on her unlit lightsaber, while bending over to offer him her left; he would need assistance to stand, cuffed as he was. "Simmins, open the door, and comm ahead to the medbay. We're taking him there."

Said medbay was presently rather busy. Xal'den had joined the congregation of concern crowding around Alisha's bed, but that was not what demanded Doctor Lak's attention. The Lady Hand had referred to the believed Changeling with the deference due a sovereign, and Lak swiftly realised he had been very mistaken in his presumption; through some magic, through some event he had not been witness to - was she among the refugees we just picked up from Odessen? - Empress Volshe had returned to the Triumphant. He had no chance to properly apologise and greet the Empress, as Vassago's grim philosophy overpowered the medbay.

Lak could barely contain his fury. Alisha Tano had been put to sleep courtesy of Lady A'dola's Vraeling companion, and Lak was glad she had; the Empress' Sword, however ailing, would surely attack the old bearded man for such cruel counsel! It went against everything Lak had been trained to even think, against the very nature of the profession of medicine, against the ethics of the New Galactic Empire, and Lak would have unloaded his vitriol on the presumptuous newcomer if Vassago had not so swiftly walked away, leaving the young girl Sabba sobbing in his callous, caliginous wake. Vassago was not the only one to depart the medbay; Særli had fled with a loud yelp, and Lak looked around in bewilderment and confusion.

There was too much chaos. Too much! "Someone please!" Lak said, barely able to think in the mayhem unfolding in his medbay. He didn't know what he was pleading for, nor who he was pleading with, but all he knew was that order had to be established. Running a hand over his sweating forehead, realising he had shouted in the presence of the Empress, Lak turned, retreating ten paces to the nurses' station, quietly consulting them regarding Shira's instructions. Two of the cyborgs' corpses would be delivered to research room 17, he was glad to hear, and for the task he chose Doctor Worthkuts Burgkats and Doctor Poeglas Dameron, two fine professionals specialising in healing nanites and infectious disease, respectively.

And in the mind of Shira A'dola, as she prayed to gods she didn't believe in, a single whisper came on a charnel wind, the sounds of the medbay seeming to fade around her to a silence stiller than death.

Pray to Me.

TAG: Padawan4687 , Volshe , Shira , Darth Voidwalker , Lord Vassago

IC: Reaper
Location: High Orbit over Nar Shaddaa

Reaper having destroyed most of the ships and having a warhead now on his tail spotted the two concussive shots from the kilo. He didn't like that. He turned to go at it tracking the progress of the warhead any second he could. He slowed down to match pace with the concussive shots and the warhead. He saw Corvar as well as sensed him and smiled.

"Glad you could join us Corvar. Been having fun with these boys and my new ship. I'm going to christen her as "Grim". What do you think?"

He spoke over comms but refocused to his little escapade. It was either gonna work or it wasn't. He quickly boosted forward just as the warhead were to hit him and zoomed past the concussive shots hoping that the warhead would take care of both of them he turned to look at the Kilo and zoomed straight at him shooting his laser's. He kept going with no intention to slow down. He was hoping the Kilo would move or run. If he didn't Reaper sure would. He'd move around it and shoot torpedoes at its back.

"You all shall meet a Grim fate."

He liked one liner's and so tried his own.

Tag: Darth Catalyst, darthferos, darthkain7

IC: Darth Helinith

Helinith fairly glowed with pride as Insipid grinned. She enjoyed amusing her former Master- anyone who had a name like that needed some joy in their life. As Insipid brought them close and revealed more of his scheme, Helinith couldn’t help but grin along with him. Distractions and baiting, now that was something she could definitely do. Her brain briefly buzzed, searching for the perfect phrase with which to capture the Gorog’s attention, but was interrupted by Blondy, who was bowing to Insipid in a way which was less than sincere. “I will take your old apprentice out to play. Come along Helinith!”

Helinith’s eyes narrowed slightly at the rapidly retreating giant, but shrugged, before quickly turning back to Lord Insipid, with hand on her hip and a pretend finger wag.

“Now former Master, no more playing with any Rakkan mind traps while I’m gone.” With a quick laugh and bow, she bounded after the blond vampire. She had to near run to keep up with the taller woman and so occupied she was with matching her pace that they came upon the battle faster than she was expecting.

They were suddenly at the doorway, Anathema charging out to get the lay of the land, the face of the gorog just visible from inside the citadel and nearby, a missile impacted on the cliff, causing the whole corridor to shudder. A blast of cold air swept into the doorway, and as it did, the corridor abruptly grew darker and constricted in a lurching motion. Helinith stepped back, a tremble racing up her spine. Everything seemed to darken and felt muted, as her hands shuddered, she was surrounded.

It was over no sooner as it begun and she frowned, shaking her head like a vexed dog to clear it. Had anyone else noticed that? Maybe there was some sort of sith alchemy in play here. It was not a comforting thought, but she had no more time to ponder it- another explosion chased Helinith out of the safety of the doorway and into the bright light of the great ‘outside’.

It was cold and the arid air bit at her nose and ears, as she stood next to Anathema and took in the forces which were now far too close for comfort. The Gorog was right in front of them- it felt pointless now because it could already see them- but she had been sent to do a job, and she was going to do it right. She cupped her mouth and hollered straight at the beast.

“Hey! Ugly! Was your mother dipping in Palpatine’s gene pool?”

Anathema jostled her, reminding Helinith that she needed to ignite her own lightsaber. "Well, this is it, Helinith," she yelled over the rising clamour of battle. "For the Sith!"

“See you on the other side! WAHOOOOO!” Helinith’s trusty red blade leapt to her hand from behind her cloak and ignited. She grinned as three opponents ran towards her. Big mistake.

As they readied their attacks, she leapt high into the air, far higher than any normal person could, and flipped over, soaring down like an acrobat, determined to land with force and lightsaber upon the poor fool who considered his blade more effective as an independent entity from his body. At the same time, she readied a huge force push to move the others away from her as soon as she made contact, hoping to deal with the rest one at a time.

@sinre @darthdreadwar